


When I am a Mental Patient, I Shall Wear Purple

by abstractconcept



Series: Almost Famous [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Humor, M/M, Slashy, gen-ish, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 14:25:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12608628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abstractconcept/pseuds/abstractconcept
Summary: Draco pays a visit to Lockhart for Christmas.





	When I am a Mental Patient, I Shall Wear Purple

**Author's Note:**

  * For [littleblackbow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleblackbow/gifts).



> Title and ‘song’ a bastardized version of ‘Warning: When I am an Old Woman I Shall Wear Purple’ by Jenny Joseph, and there are also references to the Rolling Stones. Not their music, just them in general. :D

“My dear, your uncle was released two weeks ago! Did no one tell you?”

Draco did his best to look haughty. “Indeed I was informed . . . Gladys,” he said, grimacing at not knowing the woman’s last name. “I am not, in fact, here to see my uncle.”

Gladys, to Draco’s frank astonishment, blushed. A horrible realization struck him.

“IaminfactheretoseeProfessorLockhart,” he blurted, trying to forestall the woman’s inevitable crush.

“I’m sorry?”

“Lockhart. I—er, have something for him.” Embarrassed, Draco gestured to the brightly-wrapped package under his arm.

“Oh, isn’t that _sweet?_ He’ll be so pleased; he never gets visitors, you know.”

“I know,” Draco sighed. He told himself he was _not_ at all responsible for the nutter, but it didn’t help.

Lockhart looked up happily from his joined-up writing as Draco came in. “Greg Glam, you old devil! Just stopping in after your whirlwind tour of the continent, eh?”

“That’s me,” Draco said with a bit of a sigh. It was rather depressing that Lockhart could never remember his name, though he never remembered his own for any length of time, either. “Happy Christmas,” Draco added. “I got you something—er, for your next big show.” He was never entirely clear on what Lockhart thought he was famous for, but the man _did_ always remember that he was famous for something.

Gilderoy gasped as he unwrapped the gift. “By Merlin, it’s just what I needed!” he shouted, unfurling the glittering purple blanket. The man gave Draco a roguish wink. “Brings back memories, doesn’t it?”

“Of what?” Draco replied blankly.

Gilderoy nudged him hard. “ _You_ know—back when I was your mentor and you were my groupie?”

“I— _what_?”

“Ah, I had hundreds of groupies back then. The bedsprings never stopped squeaking!”

Draco gaped, unable to process what he was hearing.

His unflattering disbelief had no effect whatever on Lockhart, now wandering happily down someone else’s Memory Lane. “And there were the drugs too, of course, and illicit spells. Jolly good fun, all of it! We never hurt anything, and after all, one must suffer if one wants to be a Rock and Roll God.”

“A _what_?”

“And now you’re apparently famous as well! Well, not as famous as me. But certainly a bit well known by now! And who should wonder—with that face, you’re almost as handsome as I am!”

“Er, thanks,” Draco said, shaking his head. Privately he had to admit that half the reason he visited Lockhart was out of sheer, horrified fascination. _No one_ could be this mental.

“And I’m terribly sorry I haven’t a gift for _you_ ,” Gilderoy went on. “Oh! I say—I’ll write a song for you; how’s that? I can churn one out in moments and it’ll be an instant classic!”

“You do that,” Draco said as Gilderoy rummaged round till he found a quill and parchment.

“When I’m an old wizard, I shall wear purple,” Gilderoy began, “And smash my guitars and fall out of trees. I’ll spit on the sidewalks and French kiss young ladies, and fight with my bandmates whenever I please . . .”

Draco watched, bemused, as Lockhart scribbled the most atrocious song lyrics ever and finished them with a flourish. _When you’re an old mental patient, you mean_ , he thought as the man finished up, but didn’t say it. “Well. Um . . . thank you,” Draco finally said as Lockhart handed the paper over. “That’ll come in handy.”

“Fifty percent of royalties,” Lockhart told him.

“What?”

“I get fifty percent of the royalties. It’s my song. I’m entitled.”

“ _What_?”

“Darling, I have to survive somehow!”

“But it’s—I’m—you’re not—”

“Or I’ll sue you. It’s my creative property, you see.”

Draco stared, feeling like the world was a strange and unsettling place. He tried to pull himself together. In the first place, he asked himself, who would be loony enough to represent Lockhart in a court of law? In the second place, was Draco actually planning on _using_ these barmy lyrics? “I, ah, don’t think there will be any royalties,” he said.

Lockhart gave him a sharp look. “Nonsense. And you’d best give me every last Knut I’m entitled to!”

“But—but—” Draco spluttered helplessly. All he needed was for Lockhart to have a meltdown and get all the Healers running in. It wasn’t even as though Draco had an excuse for visiting the man.

“But I’ll tell you what; you can pay me off with sex.”

“ _What_?” Draco squawked.

“Seems fair enough to me. For every hundred Galleons earned you bend over, how’s that?” Lockhart chirped.

“I most certainly will not! Apart from that I’m _damned_ well worth more than a hundred at a go!”

“My, we _do_ think highly of ourselves,” Lockhart chuckled.

“Pot!” Draco blurted.

“All right, we’ll work out the details later. You can have the song for the down payment of a kiss.”

Draco slumped a little. “Do you know, every time I come here to visit you I feel lucky to walk away without having to be put away here with you? It’s only a matter of time . . .”

“You should count yourself lucky,” Lockhart said. “I was voted best kisser by Swank magazine.”

Draco had to smile. “Oh, all right. Go on, then. Get it over with.” Draco shut his eyes, allowing the man to plant a dramatic kiss on his lips. It . . . wasn’t as bad as he might have expected. Suddenly something wet flicked against his mouth and Draco shoved the man away. “No tongue!” he scolded.

“It was worth a try,” Lockhart told him cheekily.

“I should go,” Draco said, gathering up his things. “Happy Christmas, Lockhart.”

“Happy Christmas, whatever your name is,” Lockhart replied with good cheer. “Remember,” he called after Draco, “you’ll owe me royalties!”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Sure, I’ll remember.” He was fairly certain he would never forget it, though he’d try his best. Lockhart, on the other hand, would forget quickly. Hopefully, anyhow.


End file.
